Twelve bullets.
One for every year she had spent waiting for her revenge on Tony Stark.
One for every minute Pietro was older than her.
One for every heartbeat when she fell down and cried, echoing her brother's pain as Ultron's soldiers riddled his body.
She hadn't seen it coming. The future was a dizzy thing, turning and changing every moment, but it had seemed clear to Wanda that Pietro's chance of survival grew with the distance he brought between himself and Ultron.
That was why she had sent him away. That was why he had protested against it.
But she had always been the more stubborn of them, the angrier one. Where Pietro was a protector, Wanda was a warrior. Where he was just a boy at heart – partly innocent and partly simply ignorant – she was an avenger.

Twelve years she had been waiting to avenge her parents, only to realize that by taking revenge for the innocent people of Sokovia, she might kill thousands of innocent people around the world.

Twelve bullets caused twelve wounds. Twelve wounds caused one death. It was simple, really. Easy.

The only difficulty, now, was breathing. Her lungs worked perfectly, she had gone through the battle almost unscathed, and the air around her was clear, not damp and foul-smelling as it had been in Hydra's fortress.
Still. It hurt.

It hurt to breathe because it reminded her that Pietro did no longer breathe. That he did no longer see, or eat – god, the tons of food he had been able to stuff down – or run. Pietro loved running. Mostly running toward something, though, that was the problem. If he had just learnt to run away, and hide, and bury himself in bitterness and fear as she had. Of course, Wanda had always known that her brother was a better person, his soul more intact than hers.
But now she was alive, and he wasn't. So what was the point in being good?

"Why did he do that?" Her voice was loud and harsh in her ears but she didn't care. Pietro was gone, and he had taken everything with him; every sympathy, every kindness, every will to live and fight. She had had her revenge but it hadn't changed a thing.
Wordlessly, Clint sat down next to her. There was no use trying to find an answer, they both knew it. They both had been haunted by that question for the past weeks.

"He would have done it for me", Wanda's voice was flat as she was stating a simple fact. Swallowing, Clint nodded. Wanda was Pietro's whole family, as he had been hers. Of course he would have died to protect his sister, as Clint would happily die to protect Laura and the kids.
"But why did he do it for you?"

It took him a moment to realize it was not an accusation but a question. Clint looked up at the young woman, trying to hold her glance. Her eyes were dark, almost empty, filled with pain and only a spark of the fire he had seen in the hut in Sokovia.
"I don't know." The corners of his mouth twitched with a humorless grin. "He was a hero."
Wanda straightened up. "He didn't need to die to become a hero."
Clint closed his eyes. "I know."
"What were you to him?" With clenched fists, Wanda fought back tears. No weeping. She had promised Pietro, and had made him promise the same seven years ago. No weeping.
What a stupid idea.

"You said I could be an avenger. You made me go back and fight. You made me believe I could be better."
Clint frowned. "You think that was wrong?"
"I think", suddenly Wanda's voice was down to a whisper, "that he saved you for me." Now it was her fighting to hold his glance. "I think… no. I know it. I know it was my fault."
Saying it out loud broke the dam, and the promise. Wanda sank down sobbing, tears streaming down her face. It hurt. It would never stop hurting. "It was my fault!"
"No, it wasn't!" Clint shook his head though she couldn't see it. Then he reached out and pulled her close, holding her as tight as he'd held the little boy in Sokovia. The little boy who lived because Pietro didn't.
"It was not your fault." He didn't think she believed him, but that was secondary right now. He just held her, stroked her hair and let her cry, just like he'd done with Cooper when his guinea pig had died. Of course, it was not exactly the same. But then, it was.
The world stopping and then going on, with a vital part of it missing but everyone else going on as if nothing had happened.

"I know you don't want to hear that right now, but I meant what I said." Eventually he pulled away a bit, not pushing the crying girl out of the embrace but forcing her to look at him.
Wanda bit her lips. "I can't."
"It's not a question of can or cannot. You are an avenger. Already."
"I cannot fight with you."
"Why not? You once did."
"And it killed the only thing in my life that was good." Wanda pulled back. The moment of weakness was over. She had cried but it made no difference. Noting did. Nothing counted.

"That is not true, and you know it. There are more things that are good. And a lot of things that are bad. I need you to help me fight them."
"For SHIELD? To save the world from other powerful companies?" She grinned contemptuously. "Like I did for Hydra, I guess. Thank you. But no."

Finally Clint found the fire in her eyes again, but it was dark. Too dark to get through it with things as clear and cold as reason. He should have known he was not the right one to talk to Wanda. Her brother had died saving him, for crying out loud! Other than the feeling of guilt, they shared nothing, and guilt was a bad fundament.
He sighed. "Then what will you do?"
Wanda closed her eyes as new tears filled her eyes. How much could one person cry? She had promised not to. "That is no business of yours." Her nails dug in her fingernails, but this time she didn't give in. She would never cry again.